


you are the rain on the fire

by anoneknewmoose



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Bottom Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Dom Jaskier | Dandelion, Dom/sub, Gentle Dom Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia and Jaskier | Dandelion Go To The Coast, M/M, Sub Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Top Jaskier | Dandelion, soft kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-13 09:07:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28651011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anoneknewmoose/pseuds/anoneknewmoose
Summary: Geralt and Jaskier and letting go, in their cottage by the sea.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 8
Kudos: 128





	you are the rain on the fire

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sablier_bloque](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sablier_bloque/gifts).



> A gift for my darling Bex, for the Midnight Violet Secret Santa exchange. Merry Christmas, babe! I hope this makes you smile. ♥
> 
> One million thank yous to my cheerleading crew and to girlmarauders for the incredible down to the wire beta!! Title from the Hush Sound's "Momentum."

They crest the final ridge in the early afternoon. Jaskier tugs at the reins of the current Roach (dark bay and, unusually, a gelding; Geralt mutters about missing the instincts of a mare but Jaskier is more than happy for a phlegmatic equine companion instead of Geralt's preferred too-intelligent females, thank you) and the wagon creaks to a stop.

If Jaskier were of the visual artist persuasion, he would paint this scene. The quiet rocky beach, the weathered cottage, the birds flying over the sea. But he isn't a painter, and so instead he has a head full of sea shanties and ballads, ranging from ghostly to romantic to so lewd he can't sing them when traveling with Geralt. The crowd would put two and two together, Geralt's scowling face would lose all intimidating power, and Jaskier would have _drastically_ fewer orgasms. That simply will not do, so he usually compromises, and only sings the songs about Geralt's cock when Geralt is far afield.

Being a humble bard certainly doesn't preclude him from appreciating the view, however, and he can only admire it for a moment before Geralt sits up and grumpily grunts at him.

"Jaskier."

"Yes, yes, we're moving on." Jaskier rolls his eyes, aware he's far too fond for the gesture to have any impact.

He clucks and Roach walks on, the wagon rumbling along the path pitted by wind and rain. Behind him, Geralt grumbles as he picks hay from his hair and shirt before he finally climbs over the seat to settle beside Jaskier. The rest has helped with the bags under his eyes, but his cheeks are still hollow, the bulk of him not quite filling out his shirt like normal.

It's been a long, long season. Geralt has pushed himself hard to carve out a buffer, to get away for a few weeks. But now they're here, and Jaskier can spoil him the way he deserves.

After all the years, their roles are well established and comfortable. They unload baggage from the wagon, then Geralt takes it and Roach around to the shed and paddock. Jaskier sets his hands to the wards, smiling a little at the familiar prickle of Yennefer's magic. The wards roll back as Jaskier enters, blurry furniture coming into focus as preservation spells retreat. It's not a large space, just a cozy living area with a snug bedroom, and tension between Jaskier's shoulders melts away as he starts pulling food from the cold box.

Stew on the stove and bread in the oven first, while Geralt checks the perimeter. Beef and vegetables and potatoes -- simple hearty fare that even Jaskier can't ruin. With his usual good timing, Geralt walks in as Jaskier gives the stew pot a last stir.

His hands are full but Jaskier doesn't hesitate to pull him down for a kiss. "Hello, darling. Roach all settled?" 

"Mm," Geralt replies. The muscles of his neck are tight under Jaskier's touch and he digs his fingers in, pressing until the knot releases and Geralt grunts. His eyes are softer when they open again and Jaskier smiles.

"Good, love. Let's unpack and clean up." Jaskier indulges in rubbing his knuckles over Geralt's cheek and wrinkles his nose. "And you'll need a shave." 

"Didn't bother with it this morning." Geralt's lips curl in one of Jaskier's favorite smiles -- one saved for intimate moments, when Geralt's pleased with himself and knows Jaskier will be pleased as well.

He's right. Jaskier is _quite_ delighted and he kisses Geralt quickly. "You spoil me, dear witcher."

"I know." Geralt quirks his eyebrow, leaving Jaskier laughing as Geralt carries bags into the bedroom.

They travel light and unpack fast, and neither of them have the energy for a proper bath. Later, Jaskier will fill the tub and put Geralt in to soak with oils. For now, it's enough to strip him of his shirt and wipe him clean with a wet rag, massage his chest and run it over his arms. His skin gleams in the setting sunlight, and Jaskier can't resist leaning over to lick up his sternum.

"Jaskier," Geralt protests, and he's making a face when Jaskier looks up, shoulders tense.

"Shush, you always make me thirsty, handsome." Jaskier winks and snickers at Geralt's sour expression. Geralt can make all the faces he wants; what matters is that line of tension has left his shoulders. 

Jasker presses a kiss to his shoulder and gestures toward a chair. "Go on then, sit." 

It's a sign of how badly he needs it that Geralt goes without protest, sinking into his meditative kneeling position in front of the chair. He watches Jaskier so intently that he shivers, aroused as ever by the passion in Geralt's pale eyes. 

It's always present, if you know how to look. 

"I won't disappear if you blink, my dear," Jaskier murmurs, though he's far from bothered. It's always heady when Geralt is focused on him, even more so when he's on his knees.

"Maybe. Want to watch you anyway," Geralt says, and Jaskier bows his head in acquiescence. He washes himself, more slowly than he intended, watching Geralt's eyes go molten yellow, his chest rising and falling with slow even breaths. The sea outside is a quiet shushing roar; somehow, even with its infinite vastness, the sound of it encloses them in the warmth of their chamber. 

After washing, Jaskier plucks Geralt's shaving kit from his bag and sits in the chair, laying the kit on a rough end table beside it. He runs his hands over Geralt's shoulders, squeezing his muscles. "Sit for me, please." 

Geralt's breath escapes him in a harsh exhale and he sits so quickly that he's almost clumsy as he moves down from his knees to his ass on the ground. Jaskier keeps his hands on his shoulders and pets him until he relaxes again, long slow strokes over the muscles of his shoulders and upper back. They have nothing but time, here by the sea, and when Geralt finally calms enough to lean back against Jaskier's legs, Jaskier smiles and kisses the top of his head.

Shaving a witcher is not for the faint of heart, and Jaskier rarely does it on the road. It isn't easy for Geralt to let someone hold a blade to his throat. But here in their cottage, protected by wards and reef and distance, Geralt can let go. Jaskier takes his time, but doesn't linger over long, swiping the razor's keen edge of Geralt's skin, tilting his head this way and that to catch every stray hair. 

He runs the back of his hand over Geralt's cheeks, checking for anything missed, and hums in satisfaction. "There we are. A proper close shave."

"Hmm." Geralt blinks his eyes open slowly. They look almost treacle colored now, in the different light. Appropriate; Geralt is rarely sweeter than times like this. He turns his head to kiss the inside of Jaskier's knee under the guise of rubbing his face against Jaskier's fine linen breeches. 

Nothing catches, of course, and Jaskier scoffs at him. "You doubt me?"

"Never," Geralt says instantly, and Jaskier melts, has to bend over and kiss him even though the angle is awkward.

"Come, darling, supper should be ready."

They pull shirts back on -- the cottage is snug enough that they don't need more, if they're sitting together in front of the fire. The wind has picked up outside as night falls, but Jaskier slings his legs across Geralt's lap and is perfectly warm with a bowl of stew and half of the piping hot fresh bread. 

Geralt isn't a particularly fussy eater, but Jaskier is pleased with how the meal turns out, and even more pleased when Geralt polishes off a second bowl. He mops up broth with a last bit of bread and sets his bowl aside, sprawling out like a satiated predator, deadly and soft in the firelight. Jaskier's chest aches with an impossible mix of feelings -- smug and protective, aroused and content, hopelessly desperately _breathlessly_ in love.

"All better, pet?" Jaskier asks, and something in him wakes up at the look Geralt gives him.

"Almost," Geralt says, and he gently moves Jaskier's legs to the couch and slides to the floor, and _oh_ , oh yes.

"You're a genius," Jaskier says. He combs his fingers through Geralt's long hair -- it needs a wash, but that will certainly wait, since Geralt is nuzzling at his cock through his breeches.

Time bends and stretches. Jaskier keeps his hands on Geralt, petting him, grounding him, gathering his hair to be an anchor when Geralt finally swallows his cock. It feels like it's been ages of teasing, of Geralt's fresh-shaved skin against his thighs, but his cock is enveloped in wet heat now. Geralt's eyes positively glow, watching Jaskier with a different kind of hunger. His throat closes around the head of Jaskier's cock with barely a batted lash and _fuck_.

"Gods, Geralt," Jaskier moans, cupping Geralt's jaw, petting down to his throat. He can feel his cock through Geralt's skin, feel Geralt swallowing, even feel Geralt's whimper.

He keeps his hand soft; squeezing isn't what tonight is for. But it makes his chest clench, just knowing that Geralt would allow it, would even enjoy it. The implicit trust is dizzying and Jaskier takes Geralt's hair in his hands again as his hips jerk, thrusting into Geralt's mouth, thrilling at the soft wet grunt Geralt makes.

It doesn't last long, after that. Jaskier comes on Geralt's tongue and Geralt sucks him until he whines and moves. He pushes Geralt onto his back, legs bent under him, and straddles his taut trembling thighs. One hand on Geralt's chest to hold him in place (as if it could be anything more than a request, with a bard against a witcher, but Geralt has always been most responsive to restraints he's agreed to), one hand shoved into Geralt's trousers to stroke his cock, Jaskier kisses him deeply. 

He tastes the salt of his own come in Geralt's mouth and groans, dragging his teeth over Geralt's lips. They moan together. Geralt's cock is hard and wet, he's so close he's leaking, and Jaskier can feel him shaking between his thighs.

"Yes, love, let me feel you come, darling," Jaskier croons, and Geralt lets out a sound like he's been punched in the gut when he crests, spilling hot seed into Jaskier's palm.

They breathe together for a long moment, Jaskier kissing him slow and sweet, until he can hear the sea again over the rush of blood in his ears. Geralt is soft and lax underneath him, kissing him half-heartedly in his daze, and Jaskier could _purr_ when he sits up and sees how beautifully and thoroughly spoiled Geralt is. 

"Up you get, sweetheart," Jaskier murmurs. He stands and pulls his shirt off, wiping his hands clean as he watches Geralt stand, as fluid and graceful as ever. He doesn't even pretend to gripe about his knees, just pulls Jaskier into his arms.

"Jaskier, I," Geralt says, faltering.

Jaskier just laughs and kisses him again. "I know, love."

He wipes Geralt's belly clean with his shirt. They keep kissing and touching one another, languorous strokes as they strip their clothes off. Jaskier takes Geralt’s hand and leads him to the bedroom, and if he could preserve moments like this in glass he would, the witcher following the bard as docile as a lamb. 

The bed is chill, but there are plenty of quilts, and Geralt puts out heat like a furnace. Jaskier crawls to the far side and Geralt lays beside him, his bulwark against the world as always, even here.

But here Geralt indulges in turning toward Jaskier, curling into his body with his head on Jaskier's breast, and Jaskier wraps his arms around Geralt's shoulders and holds him close. The sea crashes on the rocks outside, whispering at them, lulling them to sleep.


End file.
